


Rush Hour

by OpheliaDusk



Series: a fish hook; an open eye [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Chikan, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Groping, In Public, Makoto bullies Akechi's penis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 09:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11145402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaDusk/pseuds/OpheliaDusk
Summary: Makoto is pissed off at Akechi, and decides the best way to get back at him is some good old-fashioned public humiliation. (If there's one thing you can say about Makoto, it's that nobody ever accused her of thinking before she acted.)





	Rush Hour

**Author's Note:**

> For a kinkmeme prompt: "They're both stuck in a crowded train. Makoto "accidentally" touches Akechi somewhere inappropriate and is enjoying his reaction so she sees how far she can go. Whether Akechi is aware it's Makoto feeling him up is up to you. This could be her way of getting back at him for being so mean to her >:)"
> 
> Look, none of us are free of sin, okay?

”Akechi-kun.”

“Niijima-san.”

And that was the end of that conversation. As they stood next to each other on the subway platform, Makoto pulled a book from her bag and made a point of shoving her face in it. Akechi’s comment the last time they’d spoken, about her being nothing but a good girl, still rankled her, and she was going to show it by being as icily polite as possible. 

Not that it was particularly satisfying, but at the very least, she got to see him shifting uncomfortably beside her, probably wondering if he was up for the supreme breach of etiquette required to walk down the platform away from her when they were clearly riding the same train. 

He still hadn’t moved when the train arrived, and the rush of morning commuters meant that not only were they on the same train, not only were they on the same car, but they were pressed in next to each other like sardines, Makoto with her back to the wall, Akechi in front of her, reaching up for one of the handles.

He smiled, and opened his mouth; she turned sideways and raised her book even further as the train pulled away from the station.

Look at you, Makoto, she thought, disgusted. So ballsy, so brave. Really giving him a piece of your mind, aren’t you.

The train really was overcrowded this morning; the air conditioning wasn’t keeping up, and she could feel sweat trickling down the back of her neck, her short hair clinging to her skin. After a few minutes of silence, she peeked over the book, wondering vengefully if Akechi’s stupid pretty-boy haircut was causing him as much discomfort.

He did look uncomfortable, and flushed, his eyes darting around the train car. Something was strange about his expression, though, and she lowered the book further, intrigued, just as the train careened around a curve in the track and he was forced into her. 

It was then that she discovered, with aplomb, what was making him so uncomfortable. She was disgusted for a moment, as his crotch was pressed against her hip, his hardness made manifestly apparent. Then she was fascinated, seeing him bite his lip and stare at the ceiling, obviously mortified. _So that’s what does it for you, then? Rubbing up against girls on the subway? Sicko._

She’d never, in a million years, be able to describe what made her do what she did next. Maybe it was too many late-night gossip sessions with Ann about the power of female sexuality. Maybe it was the slow humming feeling she got inside of her whenever she felt Johanna telling her to take action. Regardless of the cause, she turned to face Akechi, and put the full length of her hand on his crotch. 

He made a strangled sound, and his eyes flew open, staring wildly at her. She pressed harder, rocking the heel of her hand back and forth, maintaining eye contact with him. To their left were two schoolgirls, their backs to them, looking at their phones; to their right, a tired businessman, staring out the window. That didn’t mean they were safe, though; anyone could look over at any time, and Makoto wondered what kind of face Akechi would make then. 

He was breathing raggedly as she played with the bulge in his pants, cupping and squeezing it, dragging her nails lightly down the stiff fabric. He tentatively reached down with his right hand and placed it on her waist.

She slapped it away.

“Did I tell you that you could touch me?” she hissed.

To his credit, he removed it immediately with a small, strangled whimper; he had both forearms braced on the wall of the train car now, his head hovering above hers, his legs beginning to shake. Just as she unzipped his trousers and pushed her hand inside, just as he bucked abortively against it with a low groan—

“Aoyama-itchome. This is Aoyama-itchome.”

“Well, this is me,” Makoto said matter-of-factly, withdrawing her hand and ducking under his arm. “Please excuse me.”

The look on his face as he desperately turned around to watch her saunter off the train would give her pleasant dreams for many nights to come.


End file.
